


Home Late

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Vince's Princess ♥ [13]
Category: Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: the past week has been a frustrating one, and your hitman boyfriend comes home late to find you in a state.





	Home Late

You gulp, looking down at the box in your hand. Judging by the pictures, two lines meant positive and one meant negative.

The past week hadn’t been the greatest. Your boyfriend, Vincent, had been away for a few jobs with his colleague and, after bickering about it, you had agreed to stay at home-- he didn’t ever want you to accompany him with his work. It was understandable, but spending a week alone in the house constantly worrying about him wasn’t your idea of a good time. To top it all off, you had gotten sick just before he left and spent half of the week slumped over the toilet.

After throwing up every day since Vincent left  _and_ your period not being on time, you had nipped out to buy a pregnancy test just to be sure. About five minutes have passed since you used it, and still nothing. You tear up, wishing he would just come home already-- he was supposed to be back at around 11 this morning, and it’s coming up almost 3pm. 

I mean, what if you  _are_ pregnant? And something’s happened to Vince? But then again, Marsellus always assured you that he’d be the one to call straight away, and the phone hadn’t buzzed once-- although, oh Jesus Christ-- you begin to cry, and drop the test beside you, covering your eyes with your hands. 

You let it all out, ugly-crying at its finest, when you hear the lock turn on the front door-- somebody was coming in. The sound of lazy footsteps gets louder, and you open the bathroom door a few inches, peering out. 

Vincent appears from the hallway, looking tired as hell and a little beaten down. His eyes light up when he sees you, but his face drops a little when he realises you’re upset. “No no no no no,” he says softly, hurrying towards you and pulling you into his arms, cradling you. “I’m sorry, honeypie, Jules made us stop at Big Kahuna Burger on the way home and, well, you know... traffic and stuff, also I shot a guy by accident...”

You manage a little chuckle. “You’re so fucking stupid,” you sob, smiling through your tears.

He kisses the top of your head. “Thanks, I missed you too. Why are you crying, baby?”

“I don’t wanna say.”

“Don’t be like that, tell me,” he says, caressing your cheek.

“Well, you left and I was sick and worried and I threw up like every day and it was really gross and my period’s late and-and I missed you and I’ve been so bored by myself and you were late home and I thought you died and-and-and--” you stutter, but it all gets too much and you continue bawling your eyes out into his chest, clutching onto his shirt.

“Oh lemonpie, I’m sorry,” he sighs, kissing your temple. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll get you some fries from Big Kahu--”

“No, you don’t understand,” you interrupt, sniffling, “it’s-- just look.” You thrust your arm out, pointing at the test that’s still lying on the bathroom floor. 

Confused, he shuffles over and picks it up, squinting at the little box. “Uh... what does two lines mean?” he asks, looking a little too worried.

You freeze, looking at him wide-eyed. “It-- it means I’m pregnant.” 

Vincent’s face drops (along with the test) and he struggles to find the right words. “So you mean... like, I’m gonna be a--?”

You nod, petrified.

To your surprise, his eyes well with tears and he practically pounces on you, hugging you tight. You wipe your eyes with his tie and, after sharing a giggle, Vince looks down at you, full of excitement. “I didn’t think you’d be so happy about it,” you admit.

He looks utterly baffled. “Baby, don’t be thinkin’ like an asshole, of course I’m happy! I put a baby in you! Oh, man, I gotta tell Jules, he owes me a grand now, fucker thought I wasn’t capable.”

“Vince, don’t you think you should tell Jules because it’s happy news and you want him to know?”

“Yeah, after I get my money.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter with a smile. The two of you share a few moments of comfortable silence, standing in each other’s arms, rocking gently. Sighing, you look up at him again. “Do you mean it about being happy?” you ask timidly.

“Honey, you know if I wasn’t I’d straight up tell ya. I promise, I’m fuckin’ happy, okay?”

“I’ll believe you for now-- wait, where’s the test?”

“What test?”

“The fucking pregnancy test, Vince.”

“Oh, I must’a dropped it,” he says, looking round like a lost child.

“You threw it on the ground?” you huff.

He goes to pick it up, unable to stop himself from grinning when he spots the little box with the two lines in again. Oblivious to your comment, he inspects the stick.

“The fuck are you doing?” you smile, raising an eyebrow.

“So you had to pee on this?”

“Do you not know how pregnancy tests work?”

“I’m just askin’!” he protests, pushing you against the wall gently, eyes locked with yours. They were full of content at that moment-- usually it looked like there wasn’t much going on in there, but right now they were so fogged over with joy you could practically see the hearts in his pupils. “I’ll have two babies to spoil,” he purrs, kissing you softly.

You smile against his lips. “Speaking of, I think I’ll be in need of a new wardrobe now I’m pregnant.”

“You know, I think you got pregnant on purpose so I’d have to buy you all that maternity shit.”

“Fuck you, I did  _not!”_ you huff. He backs off and titters, pleased with the success of winding you up, and you slap his arm playfully. “You’re an asshole.”

Vince saunters into the living room and you trail after him, eager to cuddle up on the couch. He yanks his jacket off and lets it drop on the carpet, then slumps on the coach, pulling you onto his lap. You rest your head on his chest, breathing in his scent-- cigarettes and fast food. “What’s for dinner?” he asks, a hand rubbing your back.

“I thought you just ate?”

“Yeah, I took a shit before we got in the car though.”

“You’re so sexy,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “I’m not cooking, I’m tired and the past week has been a shitshow.”

“But--”

“I’m  _pregnant,”_ you say, looking up and giving him doe eyes.

His face softens and he reaches for the TV remote, turning it on and flicking through the channels. “Fine, I’ll do it,” he mumbles, and kisses your cheek after settling on some shitty sitcom. Smiling, you take his hand and drape it around you. 

“So,” you say, “about this guy you shot in the face...”


End file.
